


No Place Like Home

by whichclothes



Series: Biteverse [8]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-04
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vengeance demons have changed Angel into a baby. Before they will change him back, they demand that Spike and Xander fetch them a magic stone from an alternate universe. This is an entry in my Biteverse and a crossover with my original novel, Stasis, but this fic can be enjoyed on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete and I'll post a chapter per day. It was written for the lovely [](http://chaoskir.livejournal.com/profile)[ **chaoskir**](http://chaoskir.livejournal.com/) . Many thanks to my hard-working beta, [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/) !  

_  
**No Place Like Home (1/6)**   
_

**Title:** No Place Like Home  
 **Chapter:** 1 of 6  
 **Pairing:**  Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:**  NC17  
 **Disclaimer** : I'm not Joss   
 **Summary** : Vengeance demons have changed Angel into a baby. Before they will change him back, they demand that Spike and Xander fetch them a magic stone from an alternate universe. This is an entry in my [Biteverse](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/154288.html#cutid1) and a crossover with my original novel, [Stasis](http://www.amazon.com/Stasis-Kim-Fielding/dp/144992462X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277656914&sr=8-1), but this fic can be enjoyed on its own.   
 **Notes:** This story is complete and I'll post a chapter per day. It was written for the lovely [](http://chaoskir.livejournal.com/profile)[ **chaoskir**](http://chaoskir.livejournal.com/)  . Many thanks to my hard-working beta, [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  !    


 **  
  
No Place Like Home   
**

**One**

“I’m not burning.”

Spike’s voice was so full of wonder, his upturned face so full of awe as he gazed at the blue sky above them, that at first all Xander could do was gather Spike into his arms and nuzzle gently at his neck.

But then Xander pulled away in shock. “You have a pulse.”

Spike put a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He looked utterly stunned and his breathing was rapid. After a few moments, though, he shook his head to clear it. “Your witch said I’d be…be human here.”

“Yeah, I know. But saying’s one thing, the reality of it is...really weird. How does it feel?”

“Odd. My senses are dulled.”

“Yeah, mine too.”

Spike nodded. “Right. No wolf here either.”

“So remember what she said—we’re both fully mortal now, with the weakness and the being killed easily parts and all.”

Spike nodded again, and then moved a half-step away from Xander. “And we’d best get a feeling for local customs before we’re too cozy with one another.”

“But Willow said it was San Francisco. You know, rainbow flag central.”

“No, she said it was the geographic area where San Francisco is in our world. Here, who knows?”

Xander made a sour face. In his educated opinion, alternate universes sucked. In the last one he’d visited there was no magic and alternate!Xander was a huge loser. Well, he was until Xander and Wes and Spike got to him—now, Xander suspected, the other Xander was doing a little better for himself. Still, visiting this place had not been at the top of his bucket list.

Spike was looking around at their surroundings, and Xander decided that was probably a pretty good idea and did the same. Nope—this place definitely didn’t look like SF. No Transamerica Pyramid. No Golden Gate Bridge or clanging cable cars. No cars at all, actually.

“Reminds me of London,” Spike muttered.

“Really?” Xander replied, because he’d been to London and it didn’t look anything like this. That body of water off to one side was a huge bay, not the Thames; the hills were steep, the streets cobblestoned and lined with stone and wood buildings of one or two stories.

“When I was a boy, I mean,” Spike explained. “No engines, no electric lines.”

Spike was right. There were a lot of people but they were mostly on foot, aside from the few that rattled by in carriages and one or two on horseback. The clothing was old-fashioned too—long, wide skirts on the women, suits with tailcoats on the men. “It’s retro,” Xander said.

“And we stick out like sore thumbs.” Spike was right again—he was dressed in his usual post-punk ensemble, and Xander was willing to bet Spike had the only pair of Docs in town. Xander himself was wearing jeans with a khaki-colored button-down and a brown jacket and Reeboks, which were also probably pretty rare around here.

“Maybe we better get our mystical doodad and get the hell out of here,” said Xander.

“That’d be lovely, pet. But first we have to find the bloody thing.”

Xander frowned. If they were going to get sent on stupid errands in unknown territory, you’d think someone could at least give them a hint where their quarry might be found. But no, that was too easy. “Fucking vengeance demons,” he mumbled.

Spike put a hand on Xander’s shoulder and pushed him off to the side, up against a wall where they were probably a little less conspicuous. Passersby still gave them strange looks, but now Xander saw that quite a few of the people in the area were wearing exotic costumes. Made sense, he supposed. They were standing right at the port, and there must be visitors here from all over. The bay was full of ships of varied sizes and shapes. Some of them looked like something you’d use to chase Moby Dick or hang out with Long John Silver. They all had sails and oars—clearly, no motors in the mix around here.

“Spike, what—”

“Ssh!” Spike tilted his head, clearly eavesdropping on the passing conversations. After a moment, he shook his head. “Bloody hell.”

“What?”

“They’re not speaking English.”

“Oh. What then?”

“Dunno. Sounds like Latin’s bastard child.”

“Latin. Goody.” Although it really didn’t matter—Xander was equally inept at every language except English. And French, in which he could say _merde_ , s _acre bleu!_ and because Madame Poujade wouldn’t give him a hall pass if he asked in English,    
_  
Peux j'aller à la salle de bains?    
_   
Well, Spike was good with languages, so maybe he’d be able to play translator.

They both pressed more tightly against the wall as two men in navy coats with lots of fancy braiding and shiny buttons walked by. Their backs were very straight and their gaze sharp. They gave Spike and Xander a doubtful look before continuing on their way.

Xander breathed a sigh of relief once they were gone. “You know, I’ve been in port cities before. Back when I was on duty in Africa.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re usually pretty lively places. Lots of noise and commotion. This place, though…doesn’t it seem kinda….” He searched for the right words.

Spike found them. “Dour. Dreary. Depressed.”

“Yep, all the bad d-stuff. Down in the dumps.”

Spike nodded. “I see what you mean. And I noticed the way the locals were watching those soldier-types. It’s a bit like the way people eye an vampire who might be a bit peckish.”

“Lovely. Spike, we should—”

“I know. Follow me.”

Xander did, sticking close behind Spike as they walked away from the waterfront, alongside a wide and busy street. Most of the buildings seemed to house businesses. Xander couldn’t understand the signs, but he guessed from the window displays and the scents that most of them sold nautical supplies like ropes and sailcloth and fishing nets, and the others housed restaurants filled with surprisingly un-rowdy sailor-types chowing down. The food smelled very good and Xander’s stomach rumbled. They hadn’t eaten for several hours before they left because Willow said cross-dimensional travel might make them queasy.

After several blocks, the buildings became slightly more upscale and the shops sold a larger variety of things, like clothing and pots and pans. There was one store that Xander thought might be a pharmacy. The upstairs apartments had open windows with clotheslines strung between them.

Spike led them onward a little while longer, and then turned down a side street and then another, until they found themselves in a narrow, empty alley. “We need a scheme,” Spike announced.

“Agreed. You got one?”

“I can manage a bit of the lingo. I’ll find us a flat and you can wait there whilst I poke about.”

Xander frowned. “That sounds like I’m pretty useless, Fang.”

Spike rested a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “You _are_ pretty useless at the moment, love. You can’t understand a word anyone says, you’ve no idea how to manage in a place with this level of technology, and with the eye you stand out even more than I do.”

Xander automatically touched his eye patch. He sighed unhappily, but couldn’t really argue with Spike’s logic.

Spike glanced down the alley to make sure nobody was watching and moved closer to grasp both of Xander’s shoulders. “You’ll be of use eventually, I’m sure of it. For now, stay safe and let’s get this finished as quickly as we can.”

Xander put his arms around Spike’s waist and nodded against him. “But you won’t do anything risky, right?”

“Just info gathering, pet.”

“Go ahead and gather. But I’m coming with,” Xander said stubbornly. Spike frowned but nodded.

So Xander tagged along again when they left the alley. They walked around for a little while longer as Spike formed an idea of the city's layout. Xander mostly looked at the people. The majority of them were going purposefully about their work, and as far as he could tell they were well fed and decently dressed. But as they turned down one street, he saw a thin man in clothing that was hardly more than rags. The man had a thick metal collar around his neck and was straining to pull a cart that was overladen with pieces of broken cobblestone. A second man walked alongside him looking bored and bad-tempered.

Xander poked at Spike and cut his eye toward the men with the cart. Spike looked very unhappy. “Slaves,” he hissed.

“This place gets better and better.”

In a slightly shabby neighborhood, on a block crammed with people selling food and who-knows-what-else from pushcarts and stalls, Spike came to a halt in front of a door with a hand-lettered sign attached to it.

“You just keep your mouth closed and look respectable, right?” Spike said.

“No problem,” Xander replied, taking a moment to reflect on the irony of William the Bloody telling _him_ to act respectable.

Spike rang the bell and a moment later the door opened to reveal a short, round woman in her mid-fifties or so. She wore a red scarf on her hair and a matching shawl over her shoulders, and she had a face that was shrewd but not unkind. Xander immediately got the feeling that she was the type of person who wouldn’t miss much. Spike said something to her that Xander couldn’t understand, but it certainly sounded a lot more polite than his vampire’s usual.

The woman frowned as if she were having trouble understanding him, and she asked him something slowly and a little loudly.

Spike replied, waving vaguely in Xander’s direction, and after a slightly doubtful pause she nodded and motioned them inside.

The foyer she led them through was plain but spotlessly clean, and a vase of bright flowers was set on a tiny table. They followed her to a stairway, then up two flights and down another hall, finally stopping in front of a white-painted door. Xander couldn’t help but notice the workmanship of the furniture they passed—everything looked handmade. The house itself was well-used, but solid and in good condition, as if someone had taken good care of it.

The woman opened the door and Spike and Xander entered what turned out to be a small room containing two narrow beds with a braided rug between them, a dresser, a plain wooden chair, and a window that overlooked the street. The ceiling was low and sloping, but Xander thought that made the room feel cozy.

Spike poked around for a few minutes before turning back to the woman and saying something affirmative-sounding. Then a pretty animated discussion followed between the two of them, during which Spike showed her a few of the pieces of silver that Willow had told them to bring. The woman inspected the silver very carefully, gave the two of them another long, considering look, and then nodded. She left, taking some of the silver with her.

“See?” Xander said as soon as she left. “Kept my trap firmly shut.”

Spike closed the door and then gave Xander an affectionate buss on the cheek. “That you did, love.”

“I take it this is our new digs?”

“’S a boarding house. The name of the missus is Fiana and it’s her house. I told her we’d sailed here just today. She wanted to know if we came after gold—I expect the gold rush happened rather later here than in our world. I told her we weren’t sure, but wanted to seek our fortune somehow. Promised we’d be well-behaved and paid for two weeks.”

“Two weeks! Do you really think we’ll be here that long?”

Spike shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Man, Angel will drive everyone nuts by then, Spike.”

“Xan, he’s normally enough to make anyone mental. I rather fancy him like this. He’s cute.”

Xander snorted. “Yeah, he makes an adorable baby, Spike. But he’s not so much with the demon-fighting, which leaves Kyna on her own and Giles and Lindsey and Wes babysitting, and I’m guessing none of them are happy campers.”

“Right. So we’ll find the vengeance demons’ trinket quickly and they can change the poof back, and you and I can go on a proper vacation—in our own world.”

“And Angel can pay for it.”

Spike walked to the window and Xander followed. The street was bustling with activity, but what caught their eyes was something they could just barely see through the rooftops: a hulking stone tower set on a hill.

“Looks like a fortress,” Xander observed.

“Likely it is. And it might be a good place to hunt for our knickknack.”

“Yeah, but the thing about fortresses is they’re hard to break into, Spike. And probably even harder to break out of.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed unhappily. “Tell you what. You stay here and I’ll go find us a kit that won’t make us stand out. I’ll see what I can suss out about this place as well.”

Xander thought of that miserable guy with the slave collar. “Spike, I don’t want—”

“Can’t just hide away here, love, not if we ever want to return. I’ll be back soon. Board comes with the room, so if I’m not back by six, go down and eat.”

Spike began to walk away, but Xander caught his hand and held it tight. “Be back by six or I’ll come looking for you.”

Spike reached up and traced Xander’s cheek with one hand. “Right. I told Fiana we’re cousins. Seemed wiser.”

“So I’m thinking that pushing the beds together is probably a no.”

“All the more reason to hurry, love.”

[Chapter Two](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/256204.html)

 

  



	2. Chapter 2

  
**Title:** No Place Like Home  
 **Chapter:** 2 of 6  
 **Pairing:**  Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:**  NC17  
 **Disclaimer** : I'm not Joss   
 **Summary** : Vengeance demons have changed Angel into a baby. Before they will change him back, they demand that Spike and Xander fetch them a magic stone from an alternate universe. This is an entry in my [Biteverse](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/154288.html#cutid1) and a crossover with my original novel, [Stasis](http://www.amazon.com/Stasis-Kim-Fielding/dp/144992462X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277656914&sr=8-1), but this fic can be enjoyed on its own.   
 **Notes:** This story is complete and I'll post a chapter per day. It was written for the lovely  . Many thanks to my hard-working beta,  !  

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=No%20Place%20Like%20Home&filter=all)   


** Two **

 

Xander had never been more bored in his entire life.

Spike had spent the last four days nosing around the city, trying to learn as much as he could without appearing too suspicious. He grumbled about the language a lot, too, saying it was as if someone had run Latin through a shredder and then left it out in the sun to dry. He was overly cautious, allowing Xander out of the boardinghouse only for brief walks, even though Xander stood out a little less now in his uncomfortable new clothing.  Scratchy long underwear covered by a starched shirt and heavy wool trousers, vest, and coat, all in beiges and tans. While Spike played gumshoe, Xander stayed in their room, watching through the window like a princess locked in a tower. He couldn’t speak with any of the house’s other residents, and of course there was no TV or Wii or internet, and even the few books were incomprehensible. He was ready to take up knitting or something just to keep from going insane.

 Fiana and the other boarders were nice enough to him, smiling and greeting him when they passed in the halls or sat down to meals. But all he could do was smile back and feel like the village idiot. The food was very tasty here, at least. Fiana was a good cook and always made plenty. 

On the fourth day, Xander ate a hearty lunch of some kind of fish stew, all the while sitting silently at the table while everyone else chatted amiably. Spike was out as usual, but he’d been keeping his promise and returning by sunset. Sort of the opposite of the usual vampire rules. He hadn’t learned anything yet about their quarry, but he’d been able to gather some info about the place, at least. It was called Praesidium and was one of several city-states in the region. That ominous-looking tower was called the Keep and was the seat of government. Spike had got the definite impression that the government was pretty oppressive, with strict laws about morality; the populace seemed to concentrate on keeping their heads down and being good, loyal citizens. There were quite a few slaves—Xander had seen them frequently through the window—because slavery was the usual punishment for breaking the law. Cuts down on prison costs, Xander thought sourly.

There was also magic in this place. If there were vampires or demons, Spike hadn’t seen any sign of them. He’d heard about other creatures, though, like unicorns and sea monsters and mermaids. And there was at least one wizard—a scary government guy, from what Spike had heard—and lots of small neighborhood witches of the wart-curing and love-potioning variety. Any one of them could have what they were looking for, which was a magic pink rock. Or the rock could be somewhere else entirely, like at the bottom of the bay. Assuming it existed at all and the vengeance demons hadn’t sent them on a wild goose chase just for kicks and giggles.

Xander sopped up the last of his stew with a hunk of really good bread, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood. The other boarders had finished their meals as he brooded. They had things to do and places to go, while he just had his boring window. Fiana smiled at him when he helped clear the table, carrying the dishes into the kitchen and then piling them alongside the deep sink. Fiana started rinsing them right away and Xander decided he might as well be marginally useful, so he dried.

But when he went to put the clean dishes away in a cupboard, he saw that the cupboard door was hanging crookedly. One of the hinges had pulled partway out of the frame. He’d have thought that after all the (repeated) renos he’d done at the Hyperion, he’d have gotten all the DIY out of his system, but little things awry bugged him. He pointed at the hinge and made gestures he hoped Fiana would understand meant he’d be willing to fix it if she let him borrow some tools.

After a moment’s puzzlement, Fiana nodded eagerly. She opened a closet and unearthed a heavy metal box full of hammers and saws and screwdrivers, all comfortable and well used. Xander hefted a few of the tools happily. At least this technology was more or less the same as what he was used to.

It took only a few minutes to fix the cabinet, so Xander started looking around for more projects. Fiana caught on right away and showed him a creaky stair tread, a stuck window, a wobbly doorknob, and several other things that weren’t working quite right. Nothing major, but enough to keep him occupied for a while. He whistled contentedly as he worked.

When Spike arrived home just after sunset, Xander was waiting for him in their room. Spike shut the door and they moved into each other’s arms, snuffling at one another because even with fully human noses they found one another’s scent comforting. Spike smelled like salt and ale and damp wool, and Xander would never tell him so but he thought Spike looked handsome and dashing in his Praesidium-appropriate outfit. His hair was still bleached, but he wasn’t using his usual goo so the blond curls framed his face adorably. Xander ran his fingers through them, undoing a tangle or two.

“God, Spike, I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”

Spike groaned sympathetically. They could overcome the narrow bed issue easily enough—they were creative guys, after all. That rug looked soft enough, and anyway Xander wasn’t feeling all that particular about location. But the walls in this place were thin and the two of them tended to be a little…vocal…during sex, so they’d abstained since they’d arrived and it was just about killing them both. Watching Spike at night, with his eyes closed in sleep and his chest moving smoothly up and down, the lights from outside sneaking in around the edges of the curtains and making his hair glow, Xander had to tuck his hands underneath his own body and think about algebra.

“Heard from the missus you were busy today,” Spike said quietly, his head resting on Xander’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I found a couple of things to do.”

“She says she’ll only discount our rent by twenty percent, though.”

“Wasn’t looking for a discount, Fang. Just trying to keep sane.”

Spike kissed his cheek. “I know.”

They sat side by side on Spike’s bed, their legs pressed together because some contact was better than none. “Any progress today?” Xander asked.

“Not exactly. Learned more about Praesidium.”

“Yeah? You mean you spent all day hanging out in bars while I worked my fingers to the bone.”

Spike conked his head lightly against Xander’s. “Git. Bars are the best place to suss things out. And down near the piers they’re used to foreigners and don’t mind a bad accent and loads of questions.”

“So what pearls of knowledge did you gather today?”

“They’ve been having a bit of trouble here lately. The Chief’s daughter-in-law and grandchildren were killed in an earthquake—”

“Wait. Who’s the Chief?”

“Bloke who runs the place. He’s a dictator, mostly, although he has a council of some sort. It’s a hereditary position. So his son’s family died and that caused quite a commotion. Things are finally getting back to normal now and they’re getting ready for New Year. ’T’s a big celebration here.”

Xander sighed. “Great. So we can put on our party hats and watch the ball drop from the Keep. But where’s our magic rock?”

“Dunno, love. But I reckon most of the mojo is in that wizard’s hands, so that’s the best place to look.”

“We’re off to see the wizard?” Xander snickered.

“Don’t trust wizards,” Spike said unhappily.

“Well, yeah. Not after Danny Vega hexed you that time. But he turned out okay, didn’t he? Saved my ass when the geese-demons made me old.”

“Mmm.” Spike didn’t look at all convinced that their current magic man would be a good guy too. “This bloke lives in the Keep. D’you expect we can knock on his door and he’ll hand the stone over just like that?”

Xander bent his head so that it was resting on Spike’s shoulder. Spike’s warm shoulder, which was a little weird. “If I could turn furry I could just rip the wizard’s throat out if he tried anything.”

“But you can’t. And my skills are limited here too.” Spike sighed deeply, making Xander’s head shift. “Do you miss the wolf, pet?”

“Yeah. And you—longing for undeadness?”

“The sunlight’s lovely, but yeah. I feel so weak like this. So…William.”

“Well, I like William.”

Spike pushed Xander’s head up so he could look in Xander’s eye. “Do you wish I could stay like this then? Fancy a human lover for a change?”

“No,” Xander replied earnestly. “I love you, bumps, fangs, cold feet and all. I’m just saying…even as a vampire you’re as much William as you are the Big Bad.” He held up a hand to stop Spike’s protest. “And I _like_ that. You’re…two great tastes that taste great together.”

“Git,” Spike said again, but he smiled. “I miss the taste of you.”

“I could cut my finger if you want.”

Spike shook his head sadly. “Wouldn’t be the same. Tried some blood sausage the other day at lunch. It was all right but just food. Back home, when I feel myself sink into your neck, when your life trickles onto my tongue so that you’re in me, your life is a part of me…it’s brilliant.”

Xander moaned as his cock grew hard. He liked being the bitee as much as Spike liked being the biter. Hell, sometimes Xander bit Spike, not to drink his blood, but because it really got Spike off and the wolf was pretty happy about it too. “No fair teasing, Bleachboy.”

Spike leered. “Maybe we’ve time for something before dinner—something that would keep our mouths full, perhaps.”

Little Xander expressed urgent approval as visions of 69s danced enticingly before Xander’s eye. He was about to rip off his ten zillion layers of clothing when a noise caught his attention, and Spike’s as well. It was coming from outside and it sounded like shouting.

They crowded each other for a view out the window. It was too dark to see much of anything—the gaslights  along the streets were dim and flickery—but when Spike pried open the glass they could hear alarmed yelling and running footsteps.

Spike reached for his coat. “Stay here.”

“I am _not_ a delicate flower, Spike. I’m coming with.” Xander grabbed his own coat and followed Spike down the stairs and out of the house. 

Normally their street was busy, but in a well-behaved sort of way. The same could be said of the entire city, actually. Those serious guys in the blue uniforms—the Guard—didn’t approve of disorder, and nobody wanted to piss off the Guards. Tonight, though, some people were milling around in confusion, while others stood nervously in doorways, watching small groups of uniformed men go running by, heading towards the bay. “Can you tell what’s going on?” Xander asked Spike.

Spike had been eavesdropping on conversations around them, but he shook his head. “None of this lot seems to know. Nothing good, I’ll wager.”

“Do you think everyone’s distracted enough with whatever that we could maybe get into the Keep?”

“Dunno. We can try. Keep your head down on the way, yeah?”

“Oui, mon capitaine.”

Spike frowned at him. “Still your alpha, even if you’re temporarily non-canine.”

Xander slapped him on the back. “Lead on.”

Spike seemed to have gained a pretty good feel for the city in the last few days. He led Xander confidently through Praesidium, keeping mainly to smaller streets and heading mostly uphill. There was a lot of commotion going on around them, and even though the two of them tended to stand out with Xander’s missing eye and Spike’s nuclear hair, nobody paid much attention to them now. 

When they turned a corner they finally had a clear view of the Keep, and Xander’s heart sank. There was no way they were going to sneak inside. In front of the tower was a broad paved area containing way more than a hundred Guards, each toting a sword _and_ a rifle, which was kind of excessive in Xander’s opinion. 

Spike pulled Xander off into a narrow space between a stable and a shuttered shop of some kind. “Now’s not a good time to be foreigners, I expect,” Spike said.

“At least none of this seems to have anything to do with us.”

Spike nodded. “Let’s go back. By morning we’ll have better reports of what’s happening.”

“Yeah. Man, where’s Twitter when you really need it?”

“Twit is right,” Spike said fondly. “But look—I’ve an idea.”

“A way to get to the stone?”

“No,” Spike said, and without further explanation, headed back down the hill. At first Xander thought they might be headed toward the water, and that didn’t seem too wise because the Guards were going there too. But several blocks before they reached the bay, Spike turned south. They walked through a market square that was mostly deserted, zigzagged through some twisting alleys, and finally walked down a street so steep that it had stairs instead of a sidewalk.

This neighborhood was very dark and quiet, the din of whatever disaster was going on only echoing faintly. Spike grabbed Xander’s hand, which was nice, and pulled him around a long, low building and through a side door. The inside was empty, dusty and mildew-smelling, with pieces of unidentifiable debris scattered here and there across the floor.

“What’s this?’ Xander asked, peering into the dark interior. There were a few small holes in the ceiling that let in a little moonlight, otherwise it would be pitch black. 

“Old warehouse, I expect,” Spike answered, drawing Xander more deeply inside.

“And you think our rock is here?”

“Told you this wasn’t to do with that.”

“Then what?”

Spike grasped Xander’s shoulders and pushed him back against a support pillar. “Privacy.”

“Huh?” Xander was feeling about ten steps behind what was going on.

Spike stepped closer until there was no space between them, his body pressed firmly against Xander’s. “Found this place the other day. Old habit, yeah? Looking for abandoned buildings I could stay in. Nobody’s been in here in ages, and all the buildings round about are empty at night. Usually the Guard patrols here, but tonight I’ll wager they’re busy elsewhere.”

“Oh,” Xander said, finally catching on. It helped that Spike’s groin was tightly against his, and Xander could feel the hardness through the layers of their clothing. “Privacy.”

Spike growled, grabbed the sides of Xander’s head, and gave him a ferocious, ravenous kiss. 

“Guh,” was all Xander could say when they broke apart to catch their breath. 

“Well said as always, pet.” Spike unbuttoned Xander’s pants and then his own, and fished first his own cock and then Xander’s out of their cotton longjohns. It was odd to have a warm hand on his dick that wasn’t his own, Xander thought.

But then he stopped thinking because Spike held their cocks together, and Xander worked his fingers under Spike’s back waistband so he could grab a double handful of muscular, flexing ass, and they were kissing again, tongues dancing and lips blissfully squashed against teeth.

Before Xander had rescued Spike from the Chicago sewers, Xander had gone through a pretty long dry spell sex-wise. A dry spell that had begun when he dumped Anya back in Sunnydale and had continued with only occasional sprinkles through Africa and Europe. But then Spike had seduced him—well, it had been more of a prowl than a seduction, and it wasn’t as if Xander had played hard to get—and the dry spell ended. In fact, since then Xander had pretty much found himself living in the middle of the Pacific Ocean of Sex, and he’d been perfectly happy with that, thanks very much. He could never get enough of Spike, or Spike’s body. Top, bottom, or a little of both; rough fucking or snuggly cuddling; pure vanilla or twisty kink—it didn’t matter. He loved every bit of Spike from the scar on his eyebrow to his long, ticklish toes. Xander had been suddenly plopped into a desert for the past four days, and now, oh Christ, he’d found an oasis. 

Spike seemed to feel the same way. He wasn’t slow and sensuous like he often was when they made love; instead he rutted against Xander like a parched man gulping mouthful after mouthful of sweet water.

Xander was squished between Spike and the pillar and it felt as if his lungs couldn’t quite inflate—now the man in the desert was drowning. But he didn’t care, because every cell in his body was singing and his dick was practically belting out an aria, and his brain was pretty much just set on “Oh fuck!” and his hands were clutching desperately at Spike’s wonderful ass.

Spike bit Xander’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt because of all the layers of wool and cotton, but it muffled Spike’s howl when he came. The shock of warm, sticky semen coating his dick sent Xander over the edge too, and he cried out loudly enough to shiver a few of the room’s timbers.

They kissed again, this time gently, and then drew apart. Xander felt a little shaky and was grateful for the support of the wood behind him. “Better?” Spike asked.

“Immensely. Best idea you ever had.” 

Spike grinned at him, looked around in vain for something to wipe his hand on and then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, licked his hand clean.

Xander groaned. “Fully mortal now, remember? You’re gonna kill me.”

“And it’ll be the most fun I ever had murdering someone.” Spike tucked himself back into his pants and buttoned up.

Xander did the same, making a little face as he did. “Gonna need a bath.”

“Fiana charges extra to use the bathtub.”

“We’ll splurge.”

Back out in the night, they trudged up the hill, which seemed to have grown twice as steep while they were in the warehouse. There were fewer Guards on the streets now; most of them had probably made it to the waterfront already. Most citizens were indoors, likely deciding that for now safety was better than trying to figure out what was up.

Fiana was there when they returned to the boarding house. Her face looked drawn and concerned, and she exchanged a few words with Spike before the men went up to their room. “Does she know anything?” Xander asked when they got inside.

“Nah. She was a bit worried about us. I told her we were looking for news but didn’t find any. Not so much of a lie, really. Anyway, she’ll have dinner ready in half an hour.”

“I’ll go wash up,” Xander said. “And maybe we can turn in early. Don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow.”

Spike nodded.

Before Xander left the room to go to the bathroom down the hall, though, he set a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “Whatever does happen tomorrow, if you get another of your bright ideas…I’m in. And another thing: William or Spike, you look really cute in a suit.” He gave Spike’s cheek a quick buss, and could have sworn his lover actually blushed a little.

[Chapter Three](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/256370.html)

 

 

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** No Place Like Home  
 **Chapter:** 3 of 6  
 **Pairing:**  Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:**  NC17  
 **Disclaimer** : I'm not Joss   
 **Summary** : Vengeance demons have changed Angel into a baby. Before they will change him back, they demand that Spike and Xander fetch them a magic stone from an alternate universe. This is an entry in my [Biteverse](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/154288.html#cutid1) and a crossover with my original novel, [Stasis](http://www.amazon.com/Stasis-Kim-Fielding/dp/144992462X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277656914&sr=8-1), but this fic can be enjoyed on its own.   
 **Notes:** This story is complete and I'll post a chapter per day. It was written for the lovely  . Many thanks to my hard-working beta,  !  

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=No%20Place%20Like%20Home&filter=all)   


** Three **

 

The morning was eerily quiet. Usually, activity on the street below began well before dawn, with people heading off to work and the street vendors calling enticements for bread and sausages and tea and fruit. But this morning if anyone went to work they were silent about it, and the vendors were conspicuously absent. Xander could almost feel the tension covering the city, thick and viscous like old paint. Even the sky looked angry, with the usual fog replaced by ominous clouds.

“Looks like a lovely day for a vampire,” Spike remarked as he buttoned his shirt.

“But maybe not so much for a temporarily human guy.”

“Not going to hear any news holed up here, Xan.”

Xander sighed. “I know. Spike, can we just say the magic words and return to home sweet home? I have a really bad feeling about this place.” He knew Spike would refuse—and really, Xander didn’t want to abandon the mission either—but he had to say it.

Spike gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Make yourself busy today. The missus can find you jobs. I’ll return as soon as I suss out what happened.”

With a proprietary pat on Spike’s ass and an unhappy grumble, Xander walked him to the door. He wanted to tell him to be careful, but he bit his tongue instead and watched Spike walk down the hall.

Usually the boarding house residents grabbed a quick bite on their way out the door—most of them worked in shops and had to get to work early. But today the stores must have been closed and breakfast was a subdued affair. They all clustered around the big, worn dining table, slurping coffee and half-heartedly spooning porridge. There was very little talk amongst them, just a lot of fearful glances out the window alternating with morose staring at dishes. Xander wondered if they had any clue what was going on, or whether they were simply worried about any events that would have the Guards so unhappy.

Eventually all the food was eaten and the coffee drunk, and the residents wandered off to brood in their rooms or haunt the parlor. Xander again helped Fiana clear the table and wash up, and then made it clear that he was eager for more work. She thought about it for a few moments, rubbing at her chin, and then nodded decisively. She pointed at the toolbox, which he hefted in one hand.

In back of the house was a tiny yard with a few plants that Xander suspected were some kind of herbs, as well as a couple of rosebushes with slightly blowsy pink blooms. Fiana led him a few yards down a brick path. It had started to rain. Not the full-scale downpour that those dark clouds promised, not yet anyway, but just a cold drizzle that dripped its way down the back of Xander’s collar, making him shiver as he walked.

A slightly tumble-down shed stood at the back of the garden. Fiana unlocked the door and they went inside. The shed might once have been a stable—it smelled very faintly of horses and hay—but now Fiana seemed to be using it for storage. There were no gaslights in the shed, but she’d brought a kerosene lamp with her; she lit it and hung it on a hook near the door. Then she walked over to a bulky object that turned out to be a wooden bed frame. She pointed to one of the long boards, which was cracked, and Xander nodded. Right. Today he was furniture repair guy.

Fiana waved her hands around and said something which he interpreted to mean, “Knock yourself out.” The shed must be purgatory for busted stuff. Plenty to keep him occupied.

He thanked her and she left him alone to work.

 

***

 

Xander was so busy trying to fix a broken wheelbarrow type thing that he didn’t hear Spike enter the shed. Spike set a hand on his shoulder, which made Xander scream, jump up, and nearly brain his lover with a hammer.

“Nice reflexes,” Spike said with a grin.

Xander tried to calm his racing heart. “My nice reflexes just about gave you a pretty dent in your forehead. Don’t _do_ that!”

Spike didn’t look the least bit repentant. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, moved in to give Xander a warm kiss, and then moved away again to straddle a chair that had two cracked rails in the backrest. Xander stood there, hammer still clutched in one hand. “You can go back to what you were doing, pet. I’ll just supervise,” Spike said airily.

Xander snorted but knelt beside the little wagon again. He didn’t understand why, but Spike had a serious kink for watching Xander repair or build things. All Xander had to do was pull out his leather tool belt and Spike would go all leering and purring. Sometimes Xander suspected his lover broke things just so he’d get to watch Xander fix them. Not that Xander minded—he was all for an appreciative audience and then a good shag when he was done. Spike didn’t even care if Xander got all sweaty; he’d simply lick the sweat right off Xander’s skin as if it were a rare delicacy.

And all of this was so not what should be on Xander’s mind right now.

“So?” Xander asked, grunting as he loosened a tight bolt on one wheel. “Got the 411?”

“Bloody inappropriate term in a place where telephones have yet to be invented, pet.”

“If you don’t spill I may use the hammer on you after all.”

Spike smiled a little before his face turned serious. “I went to a pub the Guards fancy when they’re off duty. The Dancing Bear. Not my favorite place—the Guards make me uneasy and the ale’s watered. But the best place for news, I expect, and in any case most of the other pubs were empty today.”

Xander made a face but figured it was too late to protest Spike’s choice of watering holes. “And?”

“Dunno whether it’s bad news for us or not. But last night the Chief’s son—”

“The one whose family died in the quake?”

“No, that was the heir. This was the younger. Bit of a layabout once, but he’d lately become apprenticed to the wizard.” Spike shrugged. “That didn’t seem to go well. Last night the son attacked the wizard and then ran off with a slave. A male slave, who’d apparently been secretly sharing his bed for some time.”

“Oh. I bet the Chief’s pissed.” As they’d suspected from the start, Praesidium wasn’t exactly a top candidate to be hosting the next gay pride event.

“Chiefs have had their own sons killed or enslaved for less.”

“No PFLAG here either, huh? Well, Tony would have tried to kick my ass if he’d known I was up with the love that dare not speak its name.”

“Wanker,” Spike muttered. 

“So is the wizard dead?”

“No. They’ve a punishment they use here on the worst offenders. The poor sods are frozen, like. Suspended animation, like one of your science fiction stories. They call it Stasis.”

“That doesn’t sound so awful.” Xander had finally released the bolt and now he pulled the wheel off the axle, which was warped.

“They keep them that way for years, Xan. Decades. Centuries even, sometimes. When the prisoners wake up everyone they knew is dead and the prisoners spend the rest of their days as slaves.”

“Okay, I take it back. That does sound awful.”

“Last night the son pulled all the prisoners out of Stasis and put the wizard in. And because it was the wizard’s job to sort these things, nobody knows how to get him out.”

Xander squinted up at Spike. The rain had stopped a while ago and now a little sunlight came in through the shed’s single window. Motes of dust sparkled as they floated down. “So he’s stuck, unless they catch the son. That sucks.”

“From what I understand, the wizard is a real horror. Even the guards are terrified of him. And with him frozen we may have an easier time searching for our stone. But nobody knows how the Chief will react. An unhappy tyrant makes for uneasy rabble.”

Xander nodded as he drew the axle out. He could understand that. He remembered when Tony used to come home after his boss had given him a hard time at work—Xander had always tried to make himself very scarce on those evenings. If he’d had an invisibility spell he would have used it. Then an unhappy thought struck him. “If the wizard did have our rock, isn’t it possible that the son took it with him?”

“’T’s possible. But perhaps the sodding thing is only valuable to the vengeance demons. Besides, sounds as if the son left in rather a hurry.”

Over in the corner Xander had seen another wheelbarrow, that one with a badly broken handle. He thought he might be able to swap its axle for the warped one; one good cart was better than two useless ones. He rolled the second cart over and started on the bolt, which was even more stubborn than the other had been. “Why do you suppose he did it? The son, I mean. He probably had a pretty good thing going: bigwig Daddy, cool supernatural job, helpless manmeat chained up in his bed.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow. “Entertaining a bit of a fantasy there, pet?”

Xander actually blushed. “Um…maybe.”

“Peaches has some chains in the cellar still. We can borrow them when we return. Do you fancy playing helpless captive or cruel master?”

“Uh…flip a coin?” Xander tried to will away his incipient hard-on.

Spike chuckled, a sound that didn’t help calm Xander at all. “Perhaps the son wanted freedom for his slave, or just wanted to be able to shag a bloke in peace.”

“Well, I can understand that. It’s…kinda romantic maybe.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Kyna.”

Xander chose to ignore that. The bolt came free and he removed the wheel. He eyed the axle carefully: yes, nice and straight. “Do you think they’ll catch him?” He realized he was rooting for the son and the slave to escape, which was stupid. For all he knew, the son was a sadistic bastard who raped and tortured his slave daily.

“Dunno. He’s some experience with ships—he was portmaster for a time. But he won’t get far if he doesn’t have a sympathetic friend. Or strong magic.”

Xander slid the good axle into place on the wheelbarrow with the intact handles and then stuck the wheel where it belonged. With only a few twists of his wrist he had one perfectly operational cart. Not a major victory maybe, but he’d learned to take satisfaction in everything he fixed, whether it was small or big. He stood and stretched his sore muscles. He’d been working in the shed for hours, interrupted only once when Fiana brought him some soup and bread, and now he really wanted a decent meal and that bath he’d been talking about. He had cobwebs in his hair.

Spike stood as well and brushed dirt from the seat of his trousers. “Things could be very unpleasant here for some time. We need to finish and get out.”

As if Xander hadn’t been saying that for days. Xander glared. “I never thought of that, oh great alpha.”

“Git,” Spike replied absently. He was thinking; Xander could tell by the little line between his eyebrows. But then Spike shook his head. “Let’s go inside. I’ll manage a scheme later.”

Xander looked out at the empty yard, swept Spike into his embrace, and planted a kiss on Spike’s full lips. “Scheme away,” he said.

 

***

 

Spike negotiated free baths for both of them. Xander’s labors had been worth at least a little hot water. Sadly, they couldn’t actually bathe at the same time. Xander missed the big tub he’d installed in their suite at the Hyperion. The two of them spent a lot of post-coital—and pre-coital—hours in that tub, soaking until Spike was nice and warm and melty, and they were both as wrinkled as old men. But no, here Xander had a fairly quick wash and then pulled on clean clothes as the tub refilled for Spike. He couldn’t even sit and chat as Spike scrubbed up. But maybe that was just as well; all that creamy bare skin would have been too tempting to resist.

Dinner that night was steak, slightly overcooked for Xander’s taste but still good. Fiana gave him the biggest one, and his slice of almond cake was twice the size of anyone else’s. The morning silence had lifted, and now everyone chatted almost frantically, all of them probably trying to figure out what was likely to happen next. Spike mostly listened, and Xander chewed and swallowed.

Sometimes after dinner the residents gathered in the parlor, and one of them—a mousy girl with a pockmarked face—would play the instrument Fiana kept there. Xander had no idea what the thing was called, but it was kind of like a harp and looked like something a goddess might strum while hanging around Mount Olympus. He didn’t much enjoy the music, but that was what passed for entertainment and it was better than sitting around awkwardly while everyone else talked.

In any case, tonight there was no music, just talking and nervous peeks through the window curtains. Again, Spike mostly listened. And Xander mostly watched Spike. He could see Spike taking everything in, his sharp eyes and ears missing nothing, and Xander wondered how the others could be so oblivious to a predator in their midst. Yeah, Spike was human at the moment, but he’d had those instincts for a century and a half; the simple addition of a pulse wasn’t going to change that. Xander had been a wolf for only a few years, but he still found himself thinking like one here, watching the subtle plays of power and hierarchy among his neighbors, the little signs of dominance and submission that even the players themselves might not have realized they were displaying.

The night dragged on and on…and on, so that Xander was half-dozing, half-wondering if this place wasn’t actually a well-disguised hell. But Spike must have seen him nodding off, because he stood up from the floral sofa where he’d been planted all night and announced something that Xander fervently hoped meant it was bedtime. Sure enough, everyone chorused, “Vale,” and Spike walked over to Xander’s uncomfortable wooden chair. 

“Let’s go, Xan,” he said.

Xander stood too and nodded at everyone before following Spike upstairs.

They took turns using the toilet—Spike bitching as usual about the curse of human biological needs—and they cleaned their teeth with the medicinal-tasting powder Spike had bought them. Then they changed into the ridiculous nightshirts that always made Xander feel like Ebenezer Scrooge. Spike turned off the room’s single light and they climbed into their narrow, lonely beds. If Xander lifted his arm and reached, he still wouldn’t quite be able to touch Spike's body. They could hold hands though, and sometimes they did that for a little bit, but it really wasn’t very comfortable. And it was certainly no substitute for their usual spooning and gentle neck sucking.

Xander was almost asleep when Spike said quietly, “I’ve an idea.”

“Does it involve having sex?”

“Sorry. Not that sort of idea.”

“Oh. I take it that it’s a magic rock finding idea, then.”

“Yeah. But you won’t like it.”

That pretty much went without saying, Xander thought. Out loud he said, “Spit it out.”

“Those slaves we’ve seen about? Technically, they belong to Praesidium itself. People only borrow them.”

“Lovely.”

“Your own country had a convict leasing system not so long ago, and it wasn’t all that different, love.”

“Thanks for the history lesson, prof. This affects us how?”

It was too dark for Xander to see, but he was certain that Spike rolled his eyes. “When someone wants to lease a slave or wants to return one, he goes to the Keep. Someone there does all the paperwork. Loads of stamps and seals and signatures, I’ll wager. Despots love that sort of thing.”

“So you’re going to go rent a slave?”

“No, berk. I’m going to pretend that I already have one that I fancy exchanging. That’ll get us inside, at least.”

Xander took a moment to mull this over. “How come I have to be the slave?”

“Because you can’t speak the tongue. All a slave has to do is keep his mouth shut and look…servile.”

“Not so sure I’m good with the servile, Spike. Besides, who wants a slave with a missing eye?”

“A foreigner who didn’t know any better and now reckons he’s got the wrong end of the deal.”

Xander thought again, this time for a very long time. Spike waited patiently. But no brilliant plan appeared in Xander’s mind and he really, really wanted to go home. Where were ruby slippers when you needed them? He let out a long, resigned breath. 

“Fine, Master.”

[Chapter Four](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/257018.html)

 

 

  



	4. Chapter 4

  
**Title:** No Place Like Home  
 **Chapter:** 4 of 6  
 **Pairing:**  Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:**  NC17  
 **Disclaimer** : I'm not Joss   
 **Summary** : Vengeance demons have changed Angel into a baby. Before they will change him back, they demand that Spike and Xander fetch them a magic stone from an alternate universe. This is an entry in my [Biteverse](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/154288.html#cutid1) and a crossover with my original novel, [Stasis](http://www.amazon.com/Stasis-Kim-Fielding/dp/144992462X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277656914&sr=8-1), but this fic can be enjoyed on its own.   
 **Notes:** This story is complete and I'll post a chapter per day. It was written for the lovely  . Many thanks to my hard-working beta,  !  

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=No%20Place%20Like%20Home&filter=all)

  


** Four **

Xander shambled along at Spike’s side, trying to keep his eye cast down meekly. He couldn’t see Spike very well like that and sometimes he fell too far behind. Then Spike would give a gentle tug on the leash. It was bad enough wearing a collar and leash when he was furry—it was just plain humiliating as a man. 

“Don’t keep your back so straight,” Spike hissed as they waited to cross a street. “You’re meant to look defeated, yeah?” 

Xander bent his shoulders obediently. His hair hung in his face, obscuring his vision even worse. He trusted Spike not to lead him into a racing carriage or under the hooves of a galloping horse, but that didn’t mean some clueless pedestrian wouldn’t crash into him. 

As it happened though, everyone gave Xander a wide berth. Slave cooties, maybe. Or perhaps they got one look at the really gross clothes Spike had unearthed for him somewhere and decided they didn’t want to risk contact. For once, Xander was glad he didn’t have his usual acute sense of smell, because he reeked. 

And while he was mentally complaining, he might as well bitch about the collar. It wasn’t butter-soft leather studded with shiny points like the one the Los Angeles ordinance  made him wear in public when he was a wolf (Spike wore it sometimes too, but in private). This one was metal—thick and wide and heavy—with slightly sharp edges that chafed his skin. Spike had found out that real slave collars were permanently welded on with some kind of magic, and of course that wasn’t going to work. But he was nothing if not resourceful and had scrounged around until he unearthed an old collar, abandoned in a junk shop. It was rusted open, but Xander had spent the better part of a morning messing with it, making the hinges open and close smoothly and rigging a hidden latch so it looked like it was on him for good, but in reality could be easily detached. As he’d worked on it, he’d wondered whether some poor guy had died with the thing around his neck. 

What was it like to live as a slave with no comfort or hope, and then die as one? Would there at least be someone at your side when you went, offering you a tiny bit of solace? What would happen to your body? God, Xander was really hoping the Chief's missing son did care about his slave, and that the two of them made it to peace and safety. 

It seemed to take forever to reach the Keep, and Xander shivered the whole way. His feet hurt, too. The cobblestones were surprisingly rough, and apparently slaves weren’t allowed to wear shoes. 

In the week that had passed since the Chief’s son absconded, things had calmed a little around Praesidium. The Guards were cracking down on anything that was officially considered immoral—slavery didn’t count—and a pall of uneasiness still hung heavily over the city. But people had returned to work, the markets were open again, and foreign sailors were once more allowed on shore. In front of the Keep itself, a dozen or so Guards paced vigilantly back and forth. Xander didn’t know whether that was the normal number. None of them paid much attention to Spike and Xander as they made their way to the enormous double doors. 

Xander snuck a peek at the man guarding the doors and then wished he hadn’t. The Guard reminded him so much of that mustached man outside the Emerald City in _The Wizard of Oz_ that Xander had to bite his lip hard to keep a straight face. Sniggering was probably not approved slave behavior. 

But the Guard didn’t notice Xander’s disrespect, because after he asked Spike a few questions in an incredibly bored-sounding way, he let them inside. 

The interior of the Keep was as bleak and foreboding as the outside, all gray stone without any softness or decoration in sight. Well, except for an enormous painting of a scowling man with graying, curly hair and a solid build. Xander guessed he must be the Chief, and he sure didn’t look like the life of any party. Another Guard sat behind a wooden desk so huge that it would've taken an elephant to move it. Spike asked something and the Guard gave them both a disdainful look before pointing to his right and uttering a string of what must have been directions. With a grunt of thanks, Spike tugged on the leash, leading Xander down the hall. 

It was a fairly wide hall, although with a low ceiling. It was noisy, too, as hurrying footsteps echoed back and forth. There were a few more Guards in the corridor, but also men in suits and women in fancy dresses, all of whom carried sheaves of paper; and more lowly-looking types who were probably servants, with trays of food and drink; and huddling on their knees, scrubbing at the stone floors, a man and a woman in collars and clothing as bad as Xander’s. The slaves didn’t look up as anyone passed, not even Spike and Xander. Their eyes looked dead and blank. Xander shuddered. 

Spike turned a few times and Xander realized the Keep was a lot bigger than he’d realized. The builders must have tunneled right into the hill, and he wondered just how far the maze of hallways stretched. Not just how wide, but how deep. He shuddered again with a slight attack of claustrophobia. 

When they got to a quiet stretch of corridor where nobody else was in sight, Spike grabbed Xander’s elbow and yanked him into a dark alcove. “Holding up all right, pet?” 

“Hunky-dory, Master. But where to?” 

Spike grinned and pulled a folded paper from inside his coat. “Nicked this on the way in.” Xander looked: it was a map, a schematic of the Keep with rooms carefully labeled. 

“When did you do that?” Xander demanded. “I didn’t see anything.” 

“Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I’ve lost all my skills. I’ve been stealing things since before your great-grandmother was born.” 

Xander couldn’t resist—he kissed Spike’s cheek. “That’s my big bad.” 

The light was so dim that it was difficult to read the map, and it didn’t help that one of them was monocular and the other was too cool to admit he needed reading glasses. But after a certain amount of squinting and underbreath cursing they found an upstairs room that was marked _Laboratorium_. 

“Is that where wizards hang out?” Xander asked. 

“I expect so. But we need to get there without being stopped, and that’s not going to happen if we’re dressed like this.” 

“Costume change?” 

“Yeah.” 

Spike peered at the map a few moments more and then led Xander down the hall, up a couple flights of stairs, and through some more twists and turns. This part of the Keep was much quieter, with only a few other people passing through. Xander and Spike could hear people’s footsteps from some distance away, and then they’d hide around a corner or in an especially dark spot until the person had passed. Xander wasn’t sure exactly what Spike was looking for, and Spike didn’t seem inclined to slow down enough to explain, so Xander just put his trust in his lover and followed. 

Finally Spike came to an abrupt stop, putting his arm out to halt Xander as well. Xander peeked over Spike’s shoulder and saw yet another hallway, this one empty except for two half-asleep Guards standing in front of a door. Spike pulled Xander farther away and then whispered in his ear: “We’re going to attack those blokes and steal their uniforms.” 

“But they’re armed,” Xander whispered back. “And we’re only human, remember?” 

“But we both still know how to fight and we’ve the advantage of surprise. The one on the right’s yours. Just wait until I give the signal to begin.” 

“And how do we know there’s not a hundred guys on the other side of that door waiting to get us?” 

“We don’t. But this wing’s marked as private quarters—bedrooms, yeah? Not the Chief’s, though. He has much grander ones elsewhere. I reckon that may have been the missing son’s rooms.” 

“Ah,” Xander said, and before he could think of another reason not to do this, Spike was tugging him along by the leash. 

The Guards woke up a little as Spike and Xander approached, but they seemed more annoyed than alarmed. The one on the right yelled something at Spike, and Spike responded with something that sounded slurred, even if Xander couldn’t understand the words. The Guard responded with irritation, pointing back the way they came, and Spike pasted a confused look on his face, lurching drunkenly toward the door and dragging Xander along with. 

Neither of the Guards made any move for his weapon as Spike swayed closer. He scratched at his head and pointed down the hall, asking another question. Then he stumbled, almost falling against the Guard on the left, who instinctively reached out to catch him. As that happened, Spike dropped the leash and shouted, “Xan!” 

Xander leapt at the guy on the right, who clearly hadn’t expected to be attacked by a slave. 

Spike was right—these guys were armed but kind of slow, and within minutes Spike and Xander had subdued them and given each a hard enough blow to knock them unconscious. Then Spike opened the door, which thankfully wasn’t locked, and they dragged the men into the room. 

“They won’t be out for long, Xan. I’ll strip off the uniforms while you find something to bind them with.” 

Xander looked around quickly. As Spike had said, they were in a bedroom. It was rather plainly decorated, although the furniture was well made. Inside a large wardrobe he found several silk ties, mostly in somber navies and grays. He grabbed them and brought them over to Spike, who by then had the Guards down to their long underwear. Spike and Xander hogtied the men securely and then gagged them with socks and more ties. The men were still out cold, but it’d be a good long time before they worked themselves free. 

“Nicely done, pet,” Spike said, briefly groping Xander’s ass when Xander pulled off the tattered trousers he was wearing. 

“Ditto.” Xander unhooked the collar, opened it, and, with considerable relief, tossed it onto the bed. Then he put on one of the Guards' uniforms. It fit pretty well. Spike’s was a little long in the legs and a little loose around the waist, but he cinched the pants tightly with a belt. It would do for a while, anyway. 

As Spike looked at the map again, figuring out the best way to get the laboratory, Xander took a more careful look around. The room was a mess, as if someone had rummaged through it and then left in a hurry. The big bed was unmade, blue covers rumpled. There was a table by one window, and it held some tiny bottles of paints, a few brushes and colored pencils, and a bunch of papers. 

Xander flipped the top paper over. It was a drawing of a man. The man was reclining on the room’s bed, bare-chested and with the blankets drawn to his waist. He looked like he’d just awakened, with a head full of messy dark curls and a sleepy smile on his face. He looked familiar, and it took Xander a moment to place him. He was a younger, softer version of the Chief. The drawing had been partially colored in but not finished, and part of it was marred by a boot print. But although Xander was no art critic, could tell that the artist was skilled. As he looked at it, he became certain that the man on the bed—who must have been the Chief’s son—had true affection for whomever drew him. And the artist’s own love for his subject shone through in every careful pencil mark. 

“What’s that?” Spike asked, walking over. 

“Something that shouldn’t be thrown away,” replied Xander. He folded the paper carefully and tucked it into one of the pockets of his stolen uniform coat. “Let’s go.” 

Before they left the room, Xander remembered to remove his eye patch and stuff it in a pocket. There probably weren’t too many one-eyed Guards. Neither glass eyeballs nor hair dye were close at hand, so he had to hope that passersby wouldn’t pay close attention to the ick that was where his left eye used to be, or think too hard about the color of Spike’s hair. 

Once again, Spike played guide as they made their way to the laboratory. When they passed other people, they both tried to look stern and purposeful, and nobody gave them a second glance. Most people seemed too busy to look carefully and notice anything odd about them. 

The laboratory was located near the top of the tower in an area that was almost deserted; Xander could understand that—he wouldn’t want to be a next-door neighbor to most wizards. There was another pair of Guards outside this door, so Xander and Spike had a hurried, whispered conference in which Xander agreed to follow Spike’s lead. 

Spike carried himself very confidently as he marched his way to the Guards, the sneer on his face clearly conveying his low opinion of them. He looked like a superior officer who was about to chew them out for something, and that clearly confused them. They frowned at Spike and Xander but, like the pair who were now tied up, made no move to reach for their weapons. 

One of the Guards said something that almost certainly meant, “Who the hell are you?” 

Spike answered back with something that sounded suspiciously like swearing. Both Guards leapt at him, but he was ready for them, and Xander threw himself into the fray pretty quickly. 

These guys were better fighters than the first two, and it took Spike and Xander a little longer to subdue them. In the process, Spike got a swollen eye that left him as half-blind as Xander, and Xander got a blade slash to his upper arm that only stung a little at the moment but was probably going to hurt like a bitch in the near future. It bled quite a lot too, so once the Guards were trussed up and gagged with strips of cloth cut from their own clothing, and after Spike had dragged them into the laboratory, Spike ripped some of his shirt to create a makeshift bandage for Xander. Before he applied it, though, he licked delicately at the wound. 

“Thought you’d lost your taste for the stuff,” Xander said. 

“I’ll never lose my taste for you, pet,” replied Spike with a grin. “Now let’s see if we can find the sodding pebble and be free of this place.” 

Unfortunately, that was much easier said than done. The word “laboratory” had conjured in Xander’s head the image of a room with gleaming stainless steel counters and maybe a few beakers bubbling over Bunsen burners. The reality was more like a mystical hoarder’s junkshop. The room was very large, and it was crammed with tables and shelves and cabinets and chests—and every one of those things contained piles and jars and bags full of…stuff. Shells and dried herbs and something that looked like bones; mummified remains of creatures Xander couldn’t recognize; jewels and chains and bolts of fabric; carvings of wood and stone; scrolls and maps and lots and lots of books. And rocks—those too: stones of every imaginable size, shape, and color. 

Xander groaned. “We’re gonna be here till we die of old age. Till Angel grows up and goes to college and becomes an insurance salesman. Till—” 

“Stop yapping and start looking, pet.” 

Xander sighed. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Rubbing at his arm, he wandered around a little, keeping his eye open for anything that resembled what they were looking for: a stone the size of a softball, mostly pink but speckled with gray. The vengeance demons who were responsible for turning Angel into an infant had said that the stone was once a part of their sacred…something that they went on explaining for a long time and Xander stopped listening to. It evidently had magic qualities of its own—it made demon veins shinier or something, important only to them; he didn’t know and didn’t care. They said it had been stolen from them centuries earlier and spirited to another dimension, one that they apparently couldn’t be bothered to visit themselves even if they wanted their trinket back. 

“What if it’s not even here?” Xander said, making a face at a bowl full of something sticky and smelly, into which he’d almost dipped his hand. 

Spike turned around from a shelf laden with ceramic urns. “Then we’re fucked.” He shrugged. “You need to have faith, love.” 

Xander bit back the sarcastic retort about Faith having had him, and also managed not to point out the irony of a demon lecturing him about belief. He rubbed his face with one hand and peered up a steep set of stairs that was almost hidden behind some hanging strips of cloth. “There’s another room up there, Spike. I’m gonna check it out.” 

Spike grunted a reply and started rooting through something that looked like a treasure chest. 

The upstairs room was considerably smaller and less cluttered. It was an observatory of some kind, Xander realized, with a roof made of many panes of glass, and a telescope in the middle. A single door led to a rooftop. But there were shelves as well, and while these contained fewer items than those in the room below, the things up here looked more valuable. There was a lot of shiny gold in nuggets and bars and formed into jewelry and statues. There were also precious gems and fancy filigreed amulets, and one pulsing, sparkly thing that looked to Xander like a miniature galaxy. He was almost hypnotized by its movements when, out of the corner of his eye, he spied something. A rock. Not very pretty compared to these other treasures, just smooth and pink with little gray spots. 

With a grin of triumph, Xander hefted the stone in his hand, looked it over for a moment, and then stuffed it in his inside coat pocket. Feeling almost giddy with relief, he made his way to the top of the stairs. 

“Hey—” he started to say, just as a crash and a lot of shouting came from below. 

Xander wasn’t a coward, he really wasn’t. He would throw himself into any fight he thought was just, and he’d face anything if he thought his beloved was in danger. But he also wasn’t stupid—you don’t just go rushing into a battle without some clue of what was going on, at least not if you could help it. 

So instead of running down the stairs he peeked down instead. What he saw instantly made his stomach tighten and his heart race. Eight or nine Guards had burst into the room. One of them was checking over his colleagues who were tied up and bleeding, but the rest were surrounding Spike. Three of them were holding Spike tight, and while he swore and shouted and kicked, he couldn’t get free. He stilled when one of them unsheathed a sword and held the tip against Spike’s Adam’s apple. 

Xander had to hold on to the railing to stop himself from doing something suicidal. That was _his_ lover’s neck, the pale, almost delicate neck that Xander so enjoyed licking and nibbling. 

The Guard with the sword yelled at Spike and Spike yelled back. The men holding him tightened their grips and another of the Guards got into the act by punching Spike hard in the gut. 

The only good thing about the situation was that none of the Guards seemed to have any clue that Xander was there. The tied-up Guards could have told them there was a second man, but they were too busy being unconscious. Spike sure wasn’t going to volunteer that information. And amidst the general commotion, as well as the crowded and chaotic condition of the room itself, the Guards seemed to have overlooked the existence of the stairs and the second story room. Xander could understand that—he hadn’t noticed them at first either, and he hadn’t been wrestling with a pissed-off former vampire. 

The Guards managed to wrest Spike’s hands behind him and one of them shoved his wrists into a pair of handcuffs. Then they began to drag him away, out the door. Xander perched silently at the top of the stairs, feeling incredibly impotent. Just before Spike was shoved out into the hallway, he spared a quick look in Xander’s direction. “Go home, Xander,” he said. 

Xander shook his head fiercely. 

The Guards must have figured Spike was just swearing at them in his own language, because none of them looked up. They took Spike away. Two of them waited in the room, though, until they were joined a few minutes later by harried-looking servants with stretchers. The wounded Guards were plopped onto the stretchers and then everyone left. 

Everyone but Xander, of course. 

[Chapter Five](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/257390.html)

    
   



	5. Chapter 5

  
**Title:** No Place Like Home  
 **Chapter:** 5 of 6  
 **Pairing:**  Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:**  NC17  
 **Disclaimer** : I'm not Joss   
 **Summary** : Vengeance demons have changed Angel into a baby. Before they will change him back, they demand that Spike and Xander fetch them a magic stone from an alternate universe. This is an entry in my [Biteverse](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/154288.html#cutid1) and a crossover with my original novel, [Stasis](http://www.amazon.com/Stasis-Kim-Fielding/dp/144992462X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277656914&sr=8-1), but this fic can be enjoyed on its own.   
 **Notes:** This story is complete and I'll post a chapter per day. It was written for the lovely  . Many thanks to my hard-working beta,  !  

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=No%20Place%20Like%20Home&filter=all)   
  


** Five **

Xander wanted to panic. 

He and Spike had been in plenty of tough situations before, but usually together. Now Spike was Christ knew where, having Christ knew what being done to him, and when Xander tried to think of a plan—any plan—to rescue him, all that he could muster was blind, stomach-lurching panic. Spike was mortal here, as vulnerable to injury and death as any lowly human. 

Xander punched a stone wall—hard. It hurt like hell, especially since his right arm was the one with the cut on it, but the pain grounded him a little, helped him catch his breath. 

He wasn’t going to do Spike any good here. In fact, if he stayed much longer someone was probably going to clue in to the fact that there had been two intruders in the Keep, not just one, and he’d be caught too. He checked his pocket to make sure the fucking rock was still there—and wasn’t he going to find some creative ways to deliver that rock to the demons, if he ever got home again. 

Spike knew the magic words to get home as well as Xander did. But the words could only be used once, so if Spike used them and Xander wasn’t right there, reciting them along with him, Xander would be stuck in this universe forever. Not only was Xander confident that Spike would never strand him that way, but Spike didn’t even know that Xander had found the stone and their mission was complete. And Xander sure as hell wasn’t going to go off and leave Spike in this place, no matter what Spike had told him to do. So if either of them were ever going home, Xander needed to find his beloved. 

_ I can do this _ , he told himself. _I’ve saved our asses before and I can do it again_.

Feeling marginally calmer, he made his way down the steep stairs. He frowned at a few small blood splatters on the floor—Spike’s or a Guard’s, he couldn’t tell. And then his eye caught something else. A folded piece of paper almost hidden under a table near the door. Sure, there were plenty of papers in the laboratory, stacked on shelves and desks and stuffed into drawers, but he was pretty certain the floor had been clear of them. With a tiny but welcome twinge of hope, he walked over and picked the thing up. 

It was the map of the Keep. 

He unfolded it, wondering whether Spike had dropped it intentionally. Xander walked closer to one of the gaslights that were mounted on the walls and he squinted at the unfamiliar words. He guessed it was too much to hope that there would be a room labeled _Prisoners Held Here_ in nice, plain English. 

When all the words remained incomprehensible, Xander decided to use his brain instead. He guessed—well, hoped, anyway—that they hadn’t actually taken Spike out of the building, since the Keep seemed like the most secure place in town to stash someone, as well being the government HQ. So where would be the most logical place to keep a prisoner? Well, Lindsey had spent all those months as their captive, back when everyone had still been pissed at him for cursing Spike, torturing Angel, and nearly killing Xander, and before he’d proven himself a reformed character. And when they kept Lindsey, they’d kept him locked up in the cell conveniently located in the Hyperion’s basement. Xander had never asked Angel exactly why he’d had a cell installed in his hotel to begin with, but it had made sense that if there was going to be a lockup, you’d put it down below, where there were no windows and sounds were muffled. Wasn’t that kind of the idea behind dungeons, too? 

Xander looked carefully at the map, and—yes. It was hard to tell where the different parts of the map were meant to be in three-dimensional space, but one part bore the label, _Subter_. As in subterranean, right? It looked as if there was a stairway at one end, and then a long, narrow corridor with small rooms on either side. Xander couldn’t think of a good reason to have a lot of small rooms in a basement, unless they were meant to hold something specific. Like prisoners. 

Okay then, Subter it was. He felt a little better having a goal, but the next question was how to get there without being caught. He could find his way with the map, but he had no way to decipher which parts of the building might be less heavily trafficked. His best bet, he decided, was to wait until nighttime, when there would be fewer people around. That was a risky strategy—all sorts of horrible things could happen to Spike in the meantime—but it seemed wisest. 

Xander peeked out the window and estimated the time at two or three in the afternoon. “Shit,” he muttered. He decided to use the time wisely: he prowled around the laboratory, inspecting anything that might potentially be used as a weapon. He ended up with two knives with fancy hilts, one of which he stuck in each of his boots; a sword and scabbard that he buckled around his waist; and a chunk of bronze about the length of a baseball bat but thicker and heavier. He had no clue what it was supposed to be, but he figured it would make a pretty good club. He just had to hope that none of the stuff he’d gathered would turn him into a frog or something. 

Feeling slightly better now that he was armed, Xander considered the question of where to hide. Then he remembered that he’d seen a small door in the upstairs room. He climbed the stairs again and found that the door led out onto the roof. There was a small flat space with a low wall around it. If someone found him up there he’d have nowhere to escape—it was a hell of a long way down, with rocks and tossing waves below—but maybe nobody would even realize that the door or his little rooftop aerie existed. 

He sat down in one corner, in a spot where he wouldn’t immediately be spotted if someone came through the door, and with nothing else to do, he tried to enjoy the view. It was pretty spectacular, although the Golden Gate looked really odd without the bridge. They probably didn’t even call it the Golden Gate here, he thought. Fortunately for him it was a clear day, and the sun sparkled off the water far below, while gulls wheeled and called, and boats large and small sailed around the bay. The rooftop was a romantic spot really, a beautiful place to cuddle up with your honey and make out. But not so romantic if your honey was being held captive somewhere and you were sick with worry over him. 

The sun crawled very slowly across the sky that afternoon. When it finally sank below the horizon, painting the sky vivid oranges and purples, Xander waited a while longer. He hadn’t heard anybody come looking for him in the laboratory, and he hoped that was a good sign. Maybe they still hadn’t caught on that he existed. He stood and stretched his cramped muscles and paced back and forth, partly to reduce nervous energy and partly to ward off the growing chill. A bank of fog slowly rolled in through the Gate, eating the stars as it went like something from a Stephen King novel. The sounds of the city dulled and eventually Xander couldn’t see the water anymore, couldn’t see anything except the stone turrets around him. He felt as if he’d been transported to another universe—again—and this time he was the only being there. It was such a terrible, lonely feeling he almost cried. 

Who would have ever guessed that a cocky little vampire would become so important to him? Would become his world. Would mean so much to him that if Spike were lost to him forever, Xander would just throw himself off this roof and into oblivion. 

Xander wasn’t normally a praying sort of guy. If he were pressed, he couldn’t have told anyone exactly what he believed in. But he knew there was an afterlife of some kind, because some of his friends had been there, and some remained there. And maybe that meant there was somebody or somebodies in charge, something that would listen to the pleas of a one-eyed sometime carpenter, sometime werewolf. What could it hurt to try, anyway? 

In a whisper, Xander said, “Please. Let Spike be okay. Let me not fuck this up. Let us get home safely. Please.” Droplets of moisture formed on his hair and fell onto the stone roof. 

*** 

It was very late when Xander ventured out of the laboratory. He crept like a mouse, hugging the walls as he went and frequently referring to the map for guidance. Every now and then he heard footsteps or hushed voices, but he didn’t see anybody and, even better, nobody saw him. 

Nobody, that was, until he came to a figure curled up on the floor in a dark corner. The man wore a collar and thin, ragged clothing. The clothing was gray and so were his hair and face, and Xander couldn’t begin to guess his age. Anywhere between thirty and sixty. The man looked up at Xander with wide, startled eyes and didn’t make a sound. Xander looked quickly around—nobody else was nearby. Then, with his heart beating so fast he thought he might collapse on the spot, he held a finger to his lips. 

The man stared blankly for several moments. And then the tiniest ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of his lips and he nodded twice. He lay back down again, his head pillowed on one arm, and closed his eyes. 

The spot marked Subter wasn’t far from there. A single Guard leaned up against a wooden door with a heavy lock. He was short and muscular and looked very young. He had the same look that Xander must have once had back in school, trying desperately to stay alert and not quite succeeding. A key ring was hanging from a loop at the Guard’s waist. 

Xander ducked back around the corner before the Guard saw him, and he considered how he could subdue him quietly. If he’d wanted to, Xander could have thrown one of his knives at the guy, and he probably could have nailed him right in the throat. He’d been practicing the skill quite a bit and had learned to mostly overcome his problems with depth perception. But even in these desperate straits, Xander was very reluctant to kill the man who was, after all, only doing his job. But spending the entire night in the hallway, dithering uselessly, wasn’t a great plan either. 

Finally, Xander took a deep breath, set the club down, and pulled the rock out of his pocket. He held it in front of him the way a child might hold an interesting something he’d found and was bringing to his mother. The Guard startled when he saw Xander approaching and put one hand on the hilt of his sword, but didn’t shout for backup. 

“Hey,” Xander said mildly, trying to paste on a winning smile. “I found this really cool stone. Would you mind taking a look at it?” 

He didn’t know what the Guard thought was going on with the one-eyed crazy guy babbling nonsense. But still the Guard didn’t seem too alarmed—this place really needed to ramp up security, Xander thought. Maybe everyone was so terrified that it never occurred to them to try to do something naughty, and therefore the Guards had grown lax and overconfident. In any case, this guy just stood there, head cocked quizzically, until Xander was within reach. And then, just when Xander could see it dawning on the Guard that maybe calling for help would be a good idea, Xander beaned him with the magic rock. It worked at knocking him out just as well as a regular rock would have. At least the fucking thing was good for something. The Guard crumpled to the floor, a small stream of blood dripping from his forehead. 

Xander crammed the rock back into his coat and tugged the keys away from the unconscious Guard. There were only three on the ring—big heavy monsters—and the second one fit the lock. Xander opened the door, dragged the Guard through onto a small landing, and then shut the door again. 

He was at the top of a very long, steep stone stairway. Gaslights set in wall sconces flickered fitfully here and there but it was still very dark. There was an odd rushing, pounding noise, and it took Xander a moment to realize it was the sound of water: waves crashing against the Keep’s foundations. Subter might actually be under the sea itself. That wasn’t scary. Nope, not at all. 

There wasn’t much Xander could do about the Guard, so he left him at the top of the stairs, hoping that the knock on the head was enough to keep him out for a while. Besides, the door was locked again and Xander had the keys. 

It seemed to take a very long time to reach the bottom. 

What he found there was just what the map had promised: a long, narrow corridor lined with dozens of identical doors. Most of the doors were open and Xander peeked into the first one. He found a small room with cold stone walls and ceiling and floor, and nothing at all inside except a single light and a pile of tangled white ropes. The next room was the same, as was the next and the next, and Xander was beginning to feel a little desperate when he came to a door that was closed and locked. Luckily, one of his stolen keys fit. 

“Oh, fuck,” Xander said when he looked inside this room. 

Half a dozen men were crouched on the floor, all squashed together as far from the door as they could get. They were all naked except for collars, and their bodies were as white and hairless as something that lived under a rock, or deep under the sea. They cowered with their arms over their heads, each of them making horrible mewling sounds of fear. 

“Hey,” Xander said softly. “It’s all right. Not gonna hurt you.” But of course they didn’t understand him. 

Xander remembered what Spike had told him about the frozen prisoners. What had he called it? Stasis. The Chief’s son had unfrozen them before he fled and, God, is this what they were now? 

“I’m sorry, guys. I can’t rescue you all, I just can’t.” 

The prisoners stared at him, scared and uncomprehending. 

Xander swallowed thickly and retreated. He left the door open, though. It was all he could do for them. 

The next cell held another six men, all in as bad a shape as the first six, and there were another five in the following cell. But one of these men was lying on his back instead of crouching like the others. That man’s skin was a sickly gray rather than white, and his body was mottled with wounds: circular burns and neat squares of missing skin, the flesh around them oozing and yellow. The worst, though, was a horrible slice that ran down his chest. The flaps of his skin were held closed with clumsy knots of black string, and the entire area was inflamed. That man didn’t seem able to move much; he just fluttered his eyes and moaned weakly. 

“Jesus Christ,” Xander swore. And then he moved on. 

The next several rooms were open and empty of everything except those white ropes. Then he came to another locked door. His hand felt a little shaky as he unlocked it—he was running out of doors and time, and he was fucking cold, even with the coat on. He wondered how those naked prisoners could survive down here. 

The room was occupied. Not by more poor, terrified men but also not by Spike. Instead, an angular, sixtyish man lay wound in ropes as if they were some kind of weird bondage hammock. He wore gray trousers and a long gray robe of embroidered silk. He wasn’t breathing, but Xander had seen plenty of dead people, and he didn’t have that certain…absence that corpses had, as if they were discarded shells. 

“Hello, Mr. Wizard,” Xander said quietly. “Can’t say I feel too sorry for you now that I’ve seen those other guys down here. And I don’t know what went on between you and those other guys, the Chief’s son and the slave, but I’m kinda thinking it wasn’t very nice. I hope they have a long, happy life together.” 

The enchanted man didn’t respond, of course. With a final shake of his head, Xander left the room. This time he locked the door. 

He was almost at the end of the long corridor when he found another closed door. With more silent prayers, he unfastened the lock. 

“Oh, God,” he moaned. 

Spike was splayed on the floor. They’d stripped away his stolen uniform, leaving him on the damp stone in nothing but a pair of long underwear pants. He lay on his belly, his battered face turned in Xander’s direction. It looked like his hands were now cuffed in front of him and his ankles attached by a short hobble chain. His entire body was mottled by bruises and his hair was matted with dried blood. He looked less alive than the wizard. 

“Spike!” Xander cried and ran to his lover’s side. Spike was breathing, but the breaths were shallow and whistling. Busted ribs, maybe even a punctured lung. His skin was clammy and his lips blue with cold. Xander ran a palm gingerly over his shoulders and back. “Spike, God, can you hear me?” 

Spike made a faint sound, sort of a whispery groan. Xander wasn’t sure whether it was in response to his question or not. But then Spike moved his head a little and a trickle of dark fluid ran from his slack lips. 

“Okay,” Xander said. “We’re gonna get out of here now. We’re gonna go home and then—” 

And then two things happened. The first thing was that Xander had a very vivid image of the prisoner down the hall, the one with the terrible wounds on his chest. Xander didn’t know exactly what had been done to him, but it was pretty clear that the man was going to die soon. The people in this place might or might not have been able to heal him, but they weren’t even trying. There had been plenty of times Xander had been certain he was going to die, too—hell, there were even a few times he almost welcomed it, given what seemed to be the alternatives—and he knew how it felt. It wasn’t the being dead itself that had scared him. He’d always figured he’d end up somewhere better, more peaceful, or at the very worst get plopped into a great big nothing. The really horrible part as far as he was concerned was the actual dying part, the idea of moving from one world to the other without a friend or a loved one to see him on his way. It wasn’t logical, maybe, but since when did logic have anything to do with death and fear? 

He didn’t know whether the anonymous man down the hall felt the same way. But Xander pictured him dying by inches without even a blanket for comfort, not having seen the sky in Christ knew how long, and Xander’s stomach felt tied up in knots. 

That was the first thing that happened—stupid, dangerous feelings of guilt and pity. The second thing was that he heard battering and shouting coming from the top of the stairs. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck….” Xander wasted precious seconds swearing and vacillating. And then, with another curse at his own stubborn idiocy, Xander lifted Spike’s limp body into his arms. 

As fast as he could with his burden, Xander ran down the hallway. Towards the yelling, towards the footsteps that were pounding down the stairway. “Sorry, Spike,” he said with breath he really couldn’t spare. “I gotta do this. Couldn’t live with myself otherwise. Just couldn’t.” 

When he got to the third door he’d unlocked, his arms were cramped and his lungs burned, the cut he’d received earlier that day was demanding attention, and Spike was just flopping lifelessly in his sweaty grip. The horde was drawing closer—as he ducked into the little cell he saw the first two men arrive at the bottom of the stairs. Guards with guns in their hands and with looks of grim determination. 

Xander used his shoulder to slam the door shut. The four men who didn’t appear injured wailed and cowered against the far wall, but the fifth man simply rolled his head in Xander’s direction. His eyes were flat and hopeless. Fists began to hit the door, which had apparently locked when Xander closed it. Sooner or later, one of the Guards was going to come up with the key, Xander knew. 

With a grunt, Xander set Spike down as gently as he could, right next to the man with the mutilated chest. Spike just lay there on his back, one hand stretched slightly in Xander’s direction as if for help, gouts of bright blood bubbling from between his lips. 

Xander knelt between the two wounded men. He grabbed Spike’s bound wrists in one hand, and the prisoner’s long gray fingers in the other. Then he tried to remember the words that would get them home. Willow had made them both repeat them a bunch of times and then Wes had quizzed them, but Spike had a much better memory for stuff like that. 

The noise at the door increased and Xander heard the metallic click of a lock turning. He squeezed his eyes closed, gave a final directionless prayer that he wouldn’t send them to the world without shrimp, and then recited the spell: “Festracami metriculo advenitum sledu op.” 

He was just saying the final word when the door flew open. 

[Chapter Six](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/257956.html)

   
 

  



	6. Chapter 6

  
**Title:** No Place Like Home  
 **Chapter:**  6 of 6  
 **Pairing:**  Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:**  NC17  
 **Disclaimer** : I'm not Joss   
 **Summary** : Vengeance demons have changed Angel into a baby. Before they will change him back, they demand that Spike and Xander fetch them a magic stone from an alternate universe. This is an entry in my [Biteverse](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/154288.html#cutid1) and a crossover with my original novel, [Stasis](http://www.amazon.com/Stasis-Kim-Fielding/dp/144992462X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277656914&sr=8-1), but this fic can be enjoyed on its own.   
 **Notes:** This story was written for the lovely  . Many thanks to my hard-working beta,  !  

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=No%20Place%20Like%20Home&filter=all)   
  
**Thank you for reading! Comments are cherished. :-) If you want to read more about this world, the sequel to _Stasis_ will be available sometime this spring. It's called _Flux_ , and as with the first book, all my royalties will go to Doctors Without Borders.**

  


 **Six**

It was a little like trying to stuff three people into a Dodge Viper—an exercise in overcrowding that was a lot more fun when your vampire boyfriend was sitting on your lap than it was when you were dragging two gravely wounded men between dimensions. For what seemed like several years, Xander couldn’t breathe at all, and other people’s knees and elbows were jammed into the most uncomfortable places imaginable.

Then his ears popped as if a sonic boom had happened inside his skull and he collided with something hard. He couldn’t hear anything at all, there was too much movement going on around him for his eye to track, his lungs were busily sucking in oxygen, and the wolf reestablished itself in its familiar place inside him. It was way too much happening all at once and most of him just wanted to black out until the world simplified itself. But still he clung to consciousness because he needed to make sure Spike was safe.

He realized he was still clutching at Spike’s cuffs and the prisoner’s hand, but someone was trying to pry them apart. “No!” he screamed. “You can’t have him!”

But the someone—no, someones—were strong and insistent, and they managed to separate Xander from the others. Still blinded with confusion, Xander clawed frantically and let the wolf spring forward. He changed more quickly than he ever had before and growled and snapped at anything he could reach.

“Goddamn it! Hold him—he’s—shit— Don’t let him bite—ow, goddamn it!!”

It was the taste that finally got to him, the flavor of the blood on his tongue forcing its way through the primal parts of his brain and registering in the more evolved, more human section of the neocortex. The blood tasted like vampire. Not _his_ vampire, but close. 

Xander let himself go limp and he blinked up at the bulky figure that was struggling to hold him down. Angel. Angel was wrestling with him. Angel had a pretty good chunk missing from his left shoulder and looked mighty upset.

With a long sigh, Xander reformed his body, feeling his fangs shrink and his muzzle melt away, his tendons and bones and muscles realign themselves. In a moment he was human again and pinned under Angel’s weight.

“Spike!” Xander croaked. “Let me— Oh, God, is he—”

“Stay still!” Angel yelled. “You’ll just be in the way.”

Xander took a few more calming breaths and then, in a voice so tiny even he could barely hear it, asked, “Is he okay?”

Angel released his hands from Xander’s chest but remained straddling his torso. “I think okay’s a little overstating it. But he’s not dust. Kyna’s letting him feed from her wrist right now.” It was a testament to the seriousness of the situation that Angel didn’t sound jealous about that, only worried.

“Are we back home?”

“Yeah. We’re in the Hyperion lobby. But who’s the other guy and what the hell happened to him?”

“Let me up. I won’t interfere.”

“Or bite. You won’t bite anyone, right?”

“No biting.”

Angel looked at his bleeding shoulder and made a face. “You’re lucky it was me. I don’t think anyone else wants to start howling at the moon.”

Dimly, Xander agreed that it was fortunate that he’d chomped on someone with immunity to being werewolfed. God knew he’d bitten Spike plenty of times—nicely, not the savage attack he’d apparently inflicted on Angel—but the undead wouldn’t turn. But none of that was really important at the moment. He’d have bitten everyone in LA if it meant saving Spike.

Angel climbed off him and Xander tried to scramble to his feet. When he got tangled in the remains of his clothing he impatiently pulled off his mangled boots and kicked the pants off. Nudity was also not one of his big issues at the moment. He was vaguely aware that the weapons from the Keep were long gone, maybe zapped away between dimensions.

Several people were crowded around two supine figures. As Angel had said, Kyna had Spike’s head cradled in her lap and was holding her wrist to his mouth. She was frowning with concern, but she also looked a little like someone who was being forced to take some really bitter medicine. Angel had already moved back to her side and he was crouched beside her, watching carefully, probably trying to make sure Spike didn’t drain her. Spike’s eyes were both swollen shut and Xander couldn’t tell whether he was conscious. The only part of him that was moving was his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His wrists and ankles were still chained.

While the scene around Spike was almost peaceful, a few feet away was all frenzied activity. Giles and Willow and Wes were all kneeling over the prisoner, alternately chanting and exchanging terse commentary, while Lindsey was limping back with a couple of books and what looked to be an entire herb shop clutched in his hands. He handed the stuff to Giles, who passed some of it to Willow and Wes.

Lindsey looked over at Xander. “He needs a hospital, man.”

But Xander shook his head. “Not a good idea. Doctors ask questions.”

“Who is he?”

“I…I don’t really know.”

“But—”

“I’ll explain later.” Giving Angel a glance that said Xander had no intention of going Call of the Wild again, Xander sat beside Spike and stroked a small undamaged part of his arm. And then his overburdened mind caught up with reality. “You’re not a baby!” he said to Angel.

“No. I grew up a few hours ago. We were all hoping that meant you guys would be back soon. What happened?”

“Long story. Later.” Really, the only thing keeping Xander from just collapsing was watching the comforting way his vampire’s chest had begun to rise and fall. Spike always did tend to forget he didn’t need to breathe.

“Fine.” And then Angel tapped Kyna’s shoulder. “He’s had a lot. Let me have a turn.”

She scowled at him. “You’re hurt.”

“Sorry,” Xander mumbled.

“It’s no big deal,” Angel said. “Come on. Sire’s blood is as good as Slayer’s.”

It looked like Kyna was considering arguing, but then she nodded. Spike moaned weakly when she took her arm away, his head lifting slightly like a baby whose bottle had been snatched. But then Angel was biting into his own wrist and settling it against Spike’s open mouth, and Spike’s head fell back onto Kyna’s lap. Xander just kept on petting those few inches of intact skin.

Several feet away, the activity continued. But Willow took a moment to look over at Xander and smile. “We’re doing our best, Xan.”

“I know.”

“Are you all right? You have blood on you.”

“Not mine. Mostly Spike’s and a little bit of Angel.”

She nodded and then bent back over her patient.

But then Kyna put her hand on Xander’s knee. “You’re done in, Xander. Go rest.”

“I’m not leaving Spike.”

“Xander, you’re not—” Angel began, but Kyna shut him up with a punch to his arm—the uninjured one, at least.

After a brief glare at Angel, Kyna smiled at Xander. “As soon as he’s had his fill of my lummox we’ll take you both up to your own bed. We’ve some human blood in our fridge and you can feed it to him yourself. We’ll get those cuffs off him as well.” Xander had never before felt so grateful to her. She gave his knee a slight squeeze and said, “You and your man risked yourselves to sort my problem. Thank you.”

“Hey, it was worth it just to never have to change another diaper.”

***

It wasn’t heaven, but it was close enough: his own bed with the fancy sheets that Angel and Kyna bought and Spike stole from them, his own fluffy pillow, and wrapped securely in his arms, his very own vampire.

Spike stirred a little and then sucked sleepily at Xander’s neck.

Xander kissed Spike’s hair, which was still matted with dried blood. “Morning, Fang. How do you feel?”

“Dead.”

“Well, yeah. But dust in the wind dead or mysteriously sexy in a bad boy kind of way dead?”

Spike considered for a moment. “The second one. Mostly.”

Xander kissed him again. “Good.”

“You’re not hurt?”

“Nope. That cut on my arm’s almost gone now that I’m back with the wolfy goodness.”

Spike murmured happily but then drew slightly away. “You’ve the poof’s blood on you.”

“Yeah. I bit him. Kinda tore his shoulder to pieces, actually.”

Spike’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and Xander sighed. “When we arrived back here things were kind of…mixed up for a few minutes. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on or who was there, but I knew you were hurt and he was trying to keep me away from you, so….”

Spike’s teeth were very white when he smiled. “You protected me.”

“Of course I did, dope.”

The smile disappeared from Spike’s face. “Told you to go home, berk.”

“Yeah, like that was gonna happen.”

Spike looked both aggravated and pleased. He settled himself close against Xander again. “I take it if Peaches is back to being extra-large again you found the bloody rock?”

“Yeah. Right before the Guards nabbed you. Man, I have a few choice words to share with the fucking vengeance demons, too.”

“Not a wise lot to make angry, pet.”

“I don’t care. They wouldn’t like me when I’m angry either.”

“Let’s just stay clear of them, all right?”

“Hmm,” Xander grumbled and, for good measure, kissed Spike’s hair again.

He thought that Spike had slipped back into sleep and Xander was about to follow suit when there was a knock at the bedroom door. “Come in,” Xander said.

Giles entered and sat in the chair next to bed, not so much as sniffing at the blatant snuggling. “Are the two of you recovering from your ordeal?” he asked.

“Yeah. A couple of days and a few more gallons of human juice and Spike’ll be back on his feet.”

“And you, Xander?”

“Just tired. And hungry! Do you think someone can round up a couple pounds of tri-tip?”

“I expect we can manage that.”

Xander’s stomach rumbled at the promise. But he felt considerable trepidation when he asked, “How is he?”

That made Spike pull away again. “How is who?”

“Xander brought a guest back as well.”

“Pet?” Spike asked, eyebrows back together.

“He’s a prisoner. I found him in that dungeon place when I went looking for you. I think he must have been one of the guys the Chief’s son freed from that…that….”

“Stasis.”

“Yeah. There were a bunch of them locked up down there, but this guy, he was possibly even in worse shape than you. All these wounds all over him.”

Giles nodded. “He was very close to death. But the infections are under control now and his injuries are mending. He’ll survive. Willow’s working on a spell to remove the collar—it seems to be held together by magic of some sort. He’s even regained consciousness, although he’s rather withdrawn. He won’t respond at all to questions.”

“Probably doesn’t understand a word,” Spike said. “Not to mention that his mind’s likely more bent than poor Dru’s.”

“Perhaps some time will help him. But I should very much like to know who he is and what happened to the three of you.”

Xander yawned. “I know. Just give me a little shut-eye, all right? Then you can feed me and I will regale you with adventurous yarns.”

When Giles had gone, closing the door softly, Spike chuckled. “Finding the stone and rescuing me wasn’t enough for you, love? You had to take half of Praesidium with you?”

“It’s just one guy, Spike. There were others, but….” Xander remembered the other terrified prisoners and shook his head sadly. “I couldn’t. Not enough time, not enough hands.”

“I know. The Guards were right on your arse, yeah? I was a bit aware of what was happening.”

Xander stroked Spike’s back, which was already healing. “And I risked both of our necks for this guy. I’m sorry, but—”

“Don’t apologize. If you didn’t fancy rescuing every poor sod you laid eye on, I’d have been dust in Chicago long ago. Always with the white hat, innit? One of the things I love about you. Foolhardy git who’s all heart. Well, heart and a lovely arse and….” Spike’s voice faded away as he fell back asleep.

***

“I have never talked so much all at once in my life,” Xander said tiredly and took a long swallow of Heineken. It had taken him hours to tell the gang everything that had happened in that other world, and Spike had mostly lolled in bed and listened, only interjecting a comment now and then.

“You’re a regular Homer, pet.”

“Simpson?”

Spike threw a pillow at him, but his aim was a little off since he was still healing, and the pillow fell harmlessly to the floor. Xander pointed his bottle in Spike’s direction. “You keep tossing things around and I’m gonna decide you’re done being an invalid, and I’ll stop waiting on you hand and foot.”

“Should wait on me anyway. ’M your alpha.”

“ _You_ are a high maintenance vamp who could really, really use a bath.”

Spike patted at his hair unhappily. “Yeah, I expect so. Can still smell the reek of that place on me.” Then he perked up. “Will the bath be for two?”

“Could be arranged,” Xander responded, as if he hadn’t been yearning for days and days for a lapful of bubbles and wet vampire.

As he walked towards the bathroom, though, he noticed a pile of fabric on the floor, over near the wall: what was left of his clothing from Praesidium. He walked over and picked up his heavy blue coat. The stone was gone from the pocket. He supposed the vengeance demons had found a way to zap it away as soon as Xander returned to his world. But it wasn’t the stupid rock he was looking for anyway. He checked another pocket and—yes. There it was. 

He drew out a folded sheet of paper. He took a moment to smooth it flat atop his dresser. There would still be crease lines, but considering what he’d just been through, he could live with that. He went into the kitchen and fetched a couple of thumbtacks from a drawer. When he came back to the bedroom, he hung the paper on the wall. A frame would be nicer. He’d make one soon.

“What’s that, love?” Spike asked. Xander stepped aside so Spike could see. “Ah. The drawing you found in that bloke’s rooms.”

“Yeah.”

“But it’s only half done.”

“Yeah, I know.” Xander smiled as he looked at the sleepy, handsome vampire in his bed and then the sleepy, handsome man in the drawing. Spike might tease him if he said so out loud, but Xander liked the way the art reminded him of the Chief’s son and the slave. He liked to think the son had risked his life and given up everything out of love for the artist. And he liked to imagine that even now the two of them were off having adventures of their own, happy and free and together. Well, maybe Spike wouldn’t tease after all. He might try to hide it, but Xander knew that under the swagger and the snark, his lover possessed the soul of a true romantic.

 A true romantic who was smelling pretty ripe right now and looked like he’d been dragged through a battlefield twice.

Maybe by tomorrow Spike would be well enough for them to explore that little master/slave scenario that had been running through Xander’s head. With a grin in Spike’s direction and a last glance at the drawing of the Chief’s son, Xander went off to fill the tub.

 _~~~fin~~~_

  

   
   



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